


Wyrd Sippers

by rosefox



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Night, Pumpkins, Tea, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosefox/pseuds/rosefox
Summary: At last Magrat puffed her way into the clearing. In one hand she held a lantern. The other arm cradled a peculiar object, something like a bumpy square with three sticking-up bits. It looked modern. Granny didn't trust it."So sorry I'm late," Magrat said breathlessly. "I didn't want to drop the tea."





	Wyrd Sippers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notwisely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwisely/gifts).



> Your prompt suggested Granny Weatherwax in a coffee shop. This... isn't that.

Granny Weatherwax wasn't one to waste words on stating what anyone could plainly see, such as "The weather's finally got a bit colder" or "Magrat is late again." A huff, however, served a different purpose. A good huff, properly executed, told the universe, _I'm on to your tricks, and you had better shape up sharpish._

She crossed her arms and huffed. The ghost of the huff posed briefly in the chilly air and then made itself scarce before Granny could tell it off for being dramatic.

"She'll be here soon, I'm sure," Nanny Ogg said placidly. She was sitting on a broad, flat stone next to the cauldron and reading a book by firelight. "Didn't you bring something to occupy you? Here, you can look over my shoulder."

"If I sit on that rock, I'll just get colder." Granny peered at the book. "What's that, then?"

Nanny showed her the cover, which bore a sketchy picture of two lutes and the title _100 More Excellent Bawdy Ballades of Ankh-Morpork_. "So many good songs coming out of the city these days," she said happily. "It's all I can do to keep up!"

Granny snorted and turned to peer down the mountain path.

"Suit yourself," Nanny said, flipping back to her page. She began mumbling lyrics under her breath. Granny stepped away rather than risk an inadvertent education in the amorous pursuits of armadillos.

Far down the path, she spotted a light. It slowly drew closer—very slowly. She frowned. It was one thing for Magrat to be late, but quite another for her to be both late and dawdling. Magrat always arrived in a fluster of flying hair and apologies.

At last Magrat puffed her way into the clearing. In one hand she held a lantern. The other arm cradled a peculiar object, something like a bumpy square with three sticking-up bits. It looked modern. Granny didn't trust it.

"So sorry I'm late," Magrat said breathlessly. "I didn't want to drop the tea."

Granny stared at her. "You made tea down there and carried it all the way up here? Whatever for?"

"You didn't have to do that!" Nanny said, putting her book aside. "We've already got the fire going."

"Oh, I didn't make—that is—well, here!" She set her lantern down, pulled one of the sticking-up things free of the square, and thrust it into Granny's hands. It was smooth, slightly tapered, and oddly warm. Steam curled from a small hole at the top.

Granny sniffed it suspiciously. "It don't smell like tea," she said.

"It's pumpkin spice," Magrat said. Her voice—at least when she was around Granny Weatherwax—always carried a treble of optimism over a low thrumming bass note of terror; these were now enhanced by a vibrato of uncertainty.

"Ooooh," Nanny said, taking another of the objects, which Granny had finally deduced were covered teacups of some sort. "You went to that new Ankhian coffee shop! I've been meaning to go. Our Jason says their scones go down a treat." She slurped a bit of tea. "My, that's... very novel. Definitely not like anything I've had before."

"What," Granny said dangerously, "is a pumpkin spice?"

"Don't know about the spices, but a pumpkin's a sort of gourd," Nanny said. She slurped again. "I think I'm getting a taste for it. Bit milkier than I'd usually like."

Granny held the covered teacup at arm's length. "There's a gourd in here? In my tea?"

"Not a real one," Magrat said. A twang of desperation joined her emotional harmonics. Nanny winced. "It's a, a flavouring. For the festive season."

" _What_ festive season?"

"You know!" Magrat waved a hand that took in the clearing, the cauldron, the drifts of rust-brown leaves, and the fat golden moon hanging above them like Greebo about to pounce on an unsuspecting piglet. "The dark sabbat, the blood moon, the approaching of the otherworld, the opening of the soul's door—"

"Oh," Granny said. "That season. Don't think of it as particularly festive, myself." She squinted at the teacup. "Or gourd-y."

Magrat looked helplessly at Nanny, who put her cup down and stood, dusting herself off. Her cap of white curls gleamed in the moonlight as she took her place by the cauldron. Without any change that one could quite put one's finger on*, she abruptly looked a good deal witchier. "Come on, Esme, drink it or don't," she said. "Time's a-wasting and Magrat has a cackle to practice."

* And one had better not try any such thing unless one was invited. Nanny was friendly, but on her own terms.

Granny eyed her cup and, very deliberately, huffed. The questionable beverage, knowing what was good for it, hastily became six ounces of good black tea with four lumps of sugar, just a bit of goat's milk, and no gourds whatsoever. She took a sip, nodded approvingly, and set it down. "Right," she said. "We'll do cackles, then."

"And open the soul's door?" Magrat said hopefully.

"Does that itself, don't it," Granny began, but Magrat looked so crushed that even Granny had to relent a bit—in the festive spirit and all. "Fine," she said, "we can oil the hinges a bit."

"Oh, that's a good idea," Nanny said, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "Wouldn't do to let that old thing get rusted up."

And the three witches joined hands around the cauldron, their unearthly cackles rising into the crisp night air like steam from a cup of tea.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ailbhe and Demetria for the beta!


End file.
